for the best, since he frightened her so with his dark moods and strange ramblings,” Mrs. Murdock said flatly. “We have wondered if he is a bit mad.”
Amelia stood, angered now. But she spoke with calm. “Grenville isn’t a madman. In fact, I do not think it helpful for you to even suggest such a thing!”
“Oh, I did not mean to make you angry. But I am worried about being alone in this house with him!”
“Then you must rein in your thoughts,” Amelia said, quietly furious. “Grenville will hardly murder you in your sleep. I imagine he will be in to see his child within moments.” She tried to soften. “Mrs. Murdock, the man I saw in that chapel was grieving. He was distraught. Perhaps he loved Lady Grenville, in his own way, and you simply misconstrued the nature of their relationship. After all, he would be very preoccupied with his affairs of state. Perhaps, now that she is deceased, you should give his lordship the benefit of the doubt.” Amelia firmly believed that this was all a huge misunderstanding. How could Grenville have not loved his wife?
“He walks in his sleep,” Mrs. Murdock said defensively. “Lady Grenville hated it.”
Amelia stared, speechlessly.
“She decided to move the entire household to Cornwall—when she had never once set foot in this house. How odd is that? Do you think she wanted to escape him, by coming here? That is what we all think!”
“I truly doubt she was fleeing her own husband,” Amelia said grimly. The gossip was too unsettling!
“Why else would she come to Cornwall in her condition—in the winter?” Mrs. Murdock nodded. “It was a very troubled marriage, Miss Greystone.”
Amelia looked down at the sleeping newborn. She didn’t know what to think. “I don’t think you should raise your concerns with anyone else, Mrs. Murdock. Especially not now, with the household in mourning. Such suspicions and doubts no longer matter.”
“You are right,” Mrs. Murdock said. “I wonder what he will do now? His sons—his daughter—need their father. I imagine he will take us with him, wherever he goes.” She seemed unhappy.
“You should hope that is the case, as it would be best for the children.” Amelia was firm. But she returned to the crib and stared down at the sleeping baby. He hadn’t looked at his beautiful daughter, not even once. She had a distinct feeling of dread. Something was certainly wrong. Maybe Mrs. Murdock hadn’t been exaggerating, as she hoped.
“Thank you so much for being so kind,” Mrs. Murdock cried. “Could you possibly call on us?”
Amelia slowly faced her. The nurse was in a state. Tears filled her eyes. She missed her mistress, Amelia thought, and she was afraid of Grenville. And how would Grenville manage? Even if his marriage had been strained, surely he was grieving now. She had seen the anguish in his eyes. “I am at Greystone Manor, a half hour’s ride away if astride. If I can be of further help, send a groom with a message.”
Mrs. Murdock thanked her profusely.
It was time to leave. Picking up her coat, Amelia went to the boys’ rooms to say goodbye, and to promise to visit soon. At least they seemed to have forgotten their grief for the moment, she thought, watching them play with the tiny soldiers. But she was very disturbed as she went down the corridor. She almost wished that she had never had such a conversation with Mrs. Murdock.
As she started downstairs, her tension spiraled impossibly. She did not know where Grenville was. Hopefully he was with his guests and she would slip out of his house unnoticed. They day had been far too trying. She was not up to exchanging greetings now.
She hurried past the second landing, which she believed housed his apartments. Her tension had increased. It was foolish, but she almost seemed to feel his presence, nearby.
As she started down the last flight of stairs, she realized that someone was coming up them. It was a man, his head down, and she recognized him before he looked up and saw her.
She faltered. Her heart slammed.
Grenville halted three or four steps below her, glancing up.
Instantly his gaze locked with hers.
Dread began. How could this be happening? And she knew that her dismay was written all over her face; she wondered if he could hear her thundering heartbeat. But his expression was impossible to read. If he was surprised to see her, she could not tell. And if he was consumed with grief, it was not obvious. His face was a mask of dispassion.
And they were alone on the stairs. She felt trapped.
But then, strangely, his eyes began to gleam.
Her panic intensified. “Good afternoon, my lord. I am so sorry for your loss.” She tried to smile politely and failed. “What a terrible tragedy! Lady Grenville was a kind and gracious woman. She was far too young to pass this way, leaving behind such beautiful children!” Was she speaking in a nervous rush? It seemed that way. “I hope to help, in any way that I can!” she added desperately.
His dark gaze never shifted from her face. “Hello, Amelia.”
She froze. She had not expected such an informal—and intimate—form of address. It was highly inappropriate for him to call her Amelia. But he had called her by her given name all summer long....
“I hadn’t expected to see you here.” His tone remained flat and calm.
She could not breathe properly. “I would never fail to attend Lady Grenville’s funeral.”
“Of course not.” His gaze slipped to her mouth. Amelia realized what he was doing and she was shocked. Then he looked directly at her hands.
She had yet to don her gloves. Instinctively, she hugged her coat to her chest, hiding her hands. Had he been remarking her lack of rings? Surely he hadn’t been searching for a wedding band. But why else would he look at her hands? “I had better go. Lucas must be waiting.” And without considering the fact that he was a rather large man, and it would not be easy to pass by him, she impulsively started down the stairs. She had to escape him.
But Grenville grasped the railing, blocking her way. Amelia crashed into the barrier provided by his strong arm.
Incapable of breathing normally, Amelia looked from his velvet-clad arm, locked against her waist, to his hand, which firmly gripped the banister. He was barring her way. Then she slowly looked up into his eyes.
“What were you doing upstairs in my house?” he asked without emotion. But his gaze was unwavering upon her face.
She wanted him to remove his arm—for now, she was actually trapped. She stared into his dark eyes. “I put your daughter to sleep. She is very beautiful,” she said tersely, wishing she dared to look away.
His mouth finally seemed to soften. His gaze lowered. Thick, black lashes fanned against his high cheekbones. Amelia could feel him thinking, carefully, deliberately. But he did not move and he did not release the railing. He finally said, “You still babble when you are nervous.”
Her heart kept thundering. What kind of comment was that? She finally managed, “You are blocking my way.”
He looked up, still using his arm as a barrier to prevent her from going
